Tech World (Undying Mercenaries Series) (31 page)

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Hours later, after the ship had been cleared of invaders, I returned to the fire control center. There was Galina Turov, standing with her right hip canted at a provocative angle while she worked the boards. I felt a surge of relief that the battle was over, and that she had survived it.

How odd…
I began to ponder why the hell I cared whether this woman had survived or not. Staring for a full minute, I thought it over. She was standing with her back to me, unaware of my scrutiny.

A
s far as I was concerned, Turov had been a devil from the first day I’d met her. I should
want
to see her dead. The thought of finding Turov’s corpse—young and lovely or older and snarling—should have brought a smile to my face. After all, hadn’t she sent goons to harass me in my own house? Men who’d actually
killed
me in the end?

But as my gaze lingered on her form, I found I didn’t want her to die. The only answer I had for my mood was it must have been a natural response to her youth and beauty. Men like me—we’re suckers for a pretty woman. We’re just wired to want to give them a break.

I felt sympathy for every cop who’d ever let a girl slide—but then I sternly reminded myself she wasn’t just guilty of dodging speeding tickets. This woman had been a conniving, cast-iron witch.

“Are you going to report, or stare, Specialist?” Turov asked me suddenly without turning around.

I jumped and stepped fully into the room. There were cameras on me—there had to be. Damn.

“Sorry sir,” I said, deciding to cover by completely ignoring the situation. “Yes, I’m here to report—and to check up on your status.”

Why the hell had I said that?

She turned around slowly. Her head cocked to one side questioningly. I found the gesture eerie and entrancing at the same time. She was like some kind of vicious animated doll. I knew an evil spirit was hidden in that package. I could only imagine her charm had helped propel her up the ranks early-on and that, as she got older, ruthless ambition had finished the job.

She had pinned her golden suns on her lapels by this time. Two suns—the rank insignia of an Imperator. I knew I should feel overawed and stand at attention—but I couldn’t muster that sort of reaction. I was tired, and she looked all wrong in the role of high-level brass. She looked more like she’d just graduated high school. Revivals like this one could be very confusing.

Her eyes studied me thoughtfully. “I understand,” she said after a moment, sighing, “and I forgive you.”

She turned back to her console, and I stepped forward cautiously. I understood that I’d been forgiven—but for what exactly, I wasn’t sure. It could have been for my lack of respect or simply for being caught staring at her butt. Then again, it could have been something else entirely. As a man who often needed forgiveness, I certainly wasn’t going to blow it this time.

“Thank you, sir,” I said in a neutral voice.

“You still haven’t given me your report.”

Relieved, I did as she asked. I avoided looking at her by staring out into open space as I spoke. I found it was easier to convince myself I was talking to an Imperator if I didn’t actually have to look at her.

I told her the ship was clear of invaders. But, as far as we could tell, Gelt Station was entirely in enemy hands. At least it wasn’t sinking into the atmosphere—not yet, anyway. Number-wise aboard
Minotaur,
we were nearly up to a full strength unit due to Centurion Thompson’s relentless efforts.

“Pitiful,” she said when I’d finished.

I didn’t argue. She was right. Two Earth legions had been essentially wiped out, and we were down to a handful of troops struggling to survive aboard
Minotaur
. We were cockroaches—hard to stamp out but, for the most part, harmless.

“I screwed up, you know,” she said suddenly.

I glanced at her which was a mistake. She looked sad. Was her lower lip trembling? I couldn’t believe it. This woman was normally made of steel! I could tell she had a better grip on her mind than she’d had when she’d first been revived, but she still wasn’t in the clear.

“A bad death, that’s all it was,” I said, echoing the words of my commanders since I’d joined Varus. “We all have them, and we all have to learn to shake them off.”

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. I thought she might cry or something, so I tried to stare down at the planet below. There was plenty to see. The impact of
Minotaur’s
broadsides hadn’t fully dissipated yet. There were storms and dust clouds spreading over a quarter of the planet. I could only imagine the number of deaths that had been caused by that single salvo Claver had launched.

“Normally,” she said in a
stronger voice, “your advice would be sound. But this occasion is very unusual. Have you looked at me, Specialist?”

My eyes widened. For me, that wasn’t a safe question when I was around Turov. Never had been. Rather than replying, I bided my time. Sure enough, she started talking again and the awkward moment slipped away.

“I’m—I’m a kid!” she said. “I was a fool.”

A small fist hammered on the console.

“Oh—that. Yeah, you’re looking a little on the young side, sir.”’

“It will ruin me,” she said bitterly. “Don’t you see? Normally, when a Legionnaire dies it’s a shock. But you can get over that shock. People treat you the same way as they did in your previous incarnation—but how can that happen now? How am I to command, to climb higher, if I look like I should have a curfew every night?”

I shrugged. “Look on the bright side, Imperator. You’ve got your youth back. Doesn’t everyone want to go back in time at some point?”

“Yes, of course. That’s why I didn’t update. I got notices, you know. If you last long enough—more than five years or so—the bio people start to send you requests to update your body records. In some cases, they can compel you to do so. But not me. I had too much rank. I slipped by them and ignored their wisdom.”

“Why’d you do it—if you don’t mind my asking, sir?”

“Selfish reasons. Fantasies. Who doesn’t want to freeze their body at that perfect moment in their lives? I was vain. I wanted my youth back some day. I fantasized about it now and then.”

I was kind of surprised she was confiding in me about all this but not
too
surprised. I’d found that people were often their most honest and philosophical after a solid death experience. Turov’s had been extreme. I figured she was correct, too. It would take years to regain the respect she’d once commanded. Those Hegemony pukes back on Earth could be vicious. They probably already disliked her—hell, I couldn’t blame them for that.

But worse, Hegemony people rarely died. They weren’t like frontline legionnaires. At least people in Varus had some understanding and sympathy for the side effects of revivals. None of that would translate well back on Earth where Tribunes and Imperators had bellies that pushed against their desks and receding hairlines to match.

“You’re getting it now, aren’t you?” she said, reading my expression.

“Yes sir, I do see your problem. But it’s just a setback, that’s all.”

She shook her head. “Combined with this disaster?” she asked, waving a hand toward the portal where the planet’s atmosphere still roiled. “I’ll be lucky if I’m a centurion a year from now.”

I wondered if she could be right, but I didn’t say anything.

“I can’t believe it, McGill,” she said. “You’re actually a good listener. Of all the hidden traits I might have suspected you of having—that must be one of the last.”

“Uh…thanks.”

“I’m not trying to insult you,” she said, putting out a hand to touch my arm.

It was a natural gesture, but her touch felt like a shock to me. I wasn’t used to being gently touched by an officer. And especially not by one that resembled a cheerleader.

She withdrew her hand, but I could feel her touch there afterward as if it was burning my skin.

“What’s the plan, sir?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“We’ll build up. We’ll wait. The rebels have very little armament. The station is stable, so I think we have some time.”

I frowned. “Time for what?”

“To revive our legions and retake the station—what else?”

I blinked but managed to nod. I’d been thinking more along the lines of flying home to Earth where we could revive all our people in a day. I almost suggested it—but held my tongue. I could tell she wasn’t in any mood for more suggestions from enlisted types today.

The more I thought about it, the more I understood her line of reasoning. She
couldn’t
go back to Earth—not now. At this point she was a monumental loser, a close equivalent to the original Tribune Varus of Rome himself. He’d managed to lose the province of Germany and three legions all at once, barely beating Turov’s new record. In fact, maybe Earth would christen their next legion of misfits “Turov.”

That thought brought a smile to my face. Unfortunately the Imperator noticed it quickly.

“What’s funny?” she asked me.

“Uh…nothing really. I was just thinking of the commissary.”

“The what?” she asked, frowning.

I was proud of my quick dodge. I’d been thinking of the commissary—but only at a very low level. The best
misdirection contains an element of truth. After all, I was a little hungry.

“Claver didn’t eject all the modules,” I explained. “That means there’s a commissary full of food and drink nearby. It also means there’s almost no one aboard to share it with.”

“Drink…” she said, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. She opened a channel to Centurion Leeza. She ordered that a watch be posted here at the fire control center then she turned back to me. There was an odd look in her eyes.

“Come with me, Specialist.”

What could I do? It was a direct order from a high-ranking officer. I followed her down the passages until we came to the commissary in question. It was, in fact, the officer’s pub that we stopped in. She took a seat and slapped the bar.

“I need something strong,” she said. “What does a weaponeer drink when he wants to get drunk immediately?”

I grimaced. “Sir, I’m not sure that’s a good—”

She slammed her small hand down on the bar again. “Shut up, McGill. You talk all the time. I want you to play bartender.”

Shrugging, I dug into the cabinets.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” I said a moment later. “These Germanica friggers do like the good stuff.”

I poured her a glassful of eighteen year old single malt scotch and left it on the bar between us. She looked at the brown liquid dubiously.

“Can you at least give me an ice cube?” she asked.

“Sure.”

I gave her three, and after she let them melt a bit, she took a swig. The results were comical, but she managed not to spit it out on the floor.

“My taste buds,” she said, “they’re operating fully again now that I’m young. This stuff tastes like gasoline.”

“Over
six hundred Hegemony credits a bottle,” I said, pouring myself a glass and clinking it into hers. “That’s expensive gas.”

Galina laughed and drank her drink. She drank too fast—and I let her. When
a soldier has just finished a hard battle, they want a drink at that moment like no other point in their lifetime.

I found some chips and peanuts under the bar that weren’t too stale. We ate them, but it was already too late to slow down the booze. We were getting drunk.

“Galina,” I said, staring at her with glassy eyes.

“What?” she asked, laughing.

“Why did you send goons to my place back on Earth?”

She rolled her eyes and looked a little embarrassed. “Oh—that. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure, as soon as you tell me the truth.”

I figured this was going to be my one and only chance to get some honesty out of this woman. She was pretty loaded, and her defenses were down.

She shook her head. “I did it because you posted that note telling people to vote against joining Hegemony.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I said. “But was that
the whole story? You sent them just for petty revenge?”

“Noooo,” she said. “Not at all. I’m not that kind of person. I wanted to discredit you.”

I chewed that one over fuzzily. I tried eating more peanuts, but I was still baffled. “I don’t understand. Arresting me was supposed to make people distrust my word?”

She gave me a smile that was almost shy. “I
know
you, James,” she said. “I knew what you would do. You performed perfectly.”

Frowning, I thought that one over. “You knew I’d kill those men?”

“The odds were good you’d resist arrest. That makes you look guilty.”

“I see,” I said, irritated. “
It didn’t work. The vote went my way.”

Galina nodded. “Yes. You won that one.”

Her admission made it easier to forgive her—that, and the booze. We shared two more shots, and soon we were both laughing about it.